Thursday 21 May 2009

I Don't Understand

Here are some things I cannot comprehend:
1. Fringed boots. Quite frankly I am dubious about fringing in general, but fringing on one's leg makes one look like, to borrow a phrase, "a somewhat anorexic Clydesdale."



I mean, really, Rachel Bilson, I used to have so much faith in you. It looks like, in some particularly enthusiastic gust of wind, a flurry of tickertape or packaging stuffing has somehow permanently attached itself to an other wise perfectly acceptable pair of boots.
I get that one needs to wear boots. I am currently on the lookout for a pair myself. If anyone sees a pair that isn't fringed, isn't scrunchy, has a decent stack heel and costs less than the five hundred dollar Camper ones I'm currently having a mental affair with, let me know.






2. Leggings.
Leggings, as we all know, are not pants. Unless you are going to or coming from an exercise venue. I will admit I am wearing leggings right now. This is OK because I am wearing a DRESS that is LONGER than my anterior, and BOOTS that are not fringed and you CANNOT TELL THEY ARE LEGGINGS. They may simply be very thick stockings. They are keeping me warm. These


on the other hand, are clearly keeping no one warm. Also they are shiny. Shiny leggings are bad because they are skintight, which is unflattering enough to any general member of the populus, but on top of this they REFLECT light, making the surface which it covers seem LARGER. Now. I do not approve of the sickeningly thin form which models take, but they are THE ONLY people in the ENTIRE WORLD who look good in leggings, and even then it's only because they are on a runway and there are lots of shiny lights and beautiful makeup and music and a general atmosphere of impenetrable coolness. Thus, I do not approve of a trend which one must starve oneself for. I am very, very sorry, but if you are over a size, maybe, six, you will definitely not look good in leggings, and even if you are a size six, you're probably on Eastern Avenue, not the runways of Milan, so just do us - and yourself - a fucking favour and buy. Some. Pants.
BUT! Do not buy...
3. Harem pants
For similar reasons. Despite their loose form and outwardly forgiving nature, the harem pant is like your bitchy best friend from primary school who gives you one half of those 'Best Friends' necklackes and then turns around and laughs with everyone else about how lame you are for wearing them. For goodness sake, these are some of the most unflattering things any human can hope to wear. Unlike the legging, the harem pant does not descriminate. It strikes wantonly. It makes everyone's arse look enormous, in a very unappealing, saggy, elephantine way. They make you look as if you are wearing an incontinence device. They are NOT appropriate evening wear and they are a fucking INSULT to those Louboutin shoes.

Above all else, I do not understand these things because they are simply not very flattering. There seems to be a common misconception amongst the clothing-buying population that reading a magazine and buying the featured items is the same thing as developping a personal style. I am not the first and will not be the last to point out that this approach is foolhardly. Trends are dreamed up in a magical land far, far away from real people and the lives they live and the bodies they have. They are dreamed up for and by people who have perfected the art of looking good in some ridiculous things. They themselves make these items appealing - not the other way around.

Take, for example, Kate Moss. Kate Moss, whatever you think about her as a person, has It. She oozes cool. I am not particularly enamoured of her brand of cool (though I found myself depressingly interested in her Topshop collection) but let's face it, on her good (i.e., not crack-whored out of her mind) days, she could wear just about anything and get away with it. But I have a secret to tell you: IT'S BECAUSE SHE'S KATE MOSS. Kate Moss could wear shiny leggings AND fringed boots AND harem pants for a turban and probably still walk away with a look of smug, perfectly detached self respect on her face. Does this mean you should wear what she is wearing? NO. NO NO NO. Because you, sweetum, cherry pie, darling one, are not Kate Moss. I'm sorry, but it's true. You are beautiful. You are special. You are radiant and sexy and in all probability much, much more interesting than Madame Moss.

But before you don a pair of pegged jeans or trilby hat in attempt to acquire aforementioned aura of impermeability, think a minute. What does this actually make you look like? What does this actually look like full stop? Kate's self assuredness comes not from the clothes she wears but from an innane and unshakeable inner love for herself that allows her to believe it's OK to do stupid things like take cocaine when you have several million dollar contracts and a young daughter to look out for, or wear ripped jeans and a boyfriend's T-shirt out and about in one of London's richest areas on a freezing cold day. She wears clothes. She imbues them with enviability. She flaunts them and deceives you into thinking that if you wear the same things as her, you will also be as cool. But it simply, simply, is not true. You will be cool if you take five minutes to look in the mirror before you leave the house and realise, "Hm. Fair point. These tiny shorts over stockings paired with shiny gladiator heels and an incredibly see through white T-shirt do not, in fact, make me look like the splendiferous human being that I am, nor am I the least bit comfortable with having this much of my buttock-cheek on display at a venue that is not a beach or public bathing house. On the contrary, it makes me feel like a two-dime whore. Jeeves, fetch me my favourite jeans."

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

What happened to you Rebecca? You used to be cool...

Anonymous said...

The amount of leggings worn as pants I see around sydney uni is utterly disturbing. There should be a mantra "friends don't let friends walk around without pants on".

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You see, the thing is, I have a lot of thoughts. I think I have more thoughts than the average person. And while you are getting a highly censored version of my thoughts here, I feel like I at least want my trivial musings to have some sort of semi permanent area, where, if necessary, I can return to and admire my own wit and wisdom.